Forbidden or For Bedding?

Across the breakfast bar, Imogen could only sigh heavily, squeeze Alexa’s hands comfortingly, and say, with care and tact, ‘It’s always easy to blind ourselves to what we don’t want to know.’ Then, with even more care and tact, she said, ‘Um, you mentioned that Guy let himself in? Which means he must still have your keys? I don’t mean to panic you, but it might be a good idea to change the lock.’

Alexa gazed across at her friend. Her expression changed.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m going to do a lot more than just that.’

Guy was in a good mood. An excellent mood. The best mood he’d been in for a long time.

Everyone noticed it. His staff, his friends, his family. He knew what they ascribed his good mood to, and he found it fort amusant that they did. Because it had nothing to do with his impending nuptials.

Just the opposite.

Marriage to Louisa no longer loured over his head like a heavy weight. Now, thankfully, he no longer had only its confines ahead of him. Instead, he had something very different. Satisfaction creamed through him. Why had he ever thought he’d have to relinquish his liaison with Alexa? Do without her? She’d suited him so well. Why had he ever terminated his affair with her just because he had been hog-tied by Heinrich into marrying his daughter to save his pernicious bank? Such a sacrifice was, in fact, quite unnecessary.

Oh, it would be tricky, he knew. Not easy to pull off, and requiring careful timing and finesse. Yes, it would involve deceiving Louisa—but, young as she was, she had been born to a family in which such arrangements were unexceptional, so why should she object to what he was planning? She understood the realities of the kinds of lives they all led, the privileges and the obligations alike. And, since she was no more in love with him than he with her, why should she care either way? Yes, she might perceive his arrangement as unflattering, but there was no question that she would be jealous, or feel rejected. Why should she not be accommodating about it all? Understand what he was doing, and why?

As for Alexa, she had already proved exemplarily discreet, so he had no reason to doubt her continuance on that score. He’d warned her that extra discretion would be required initially, but he was confident it would not be an issue for her. She would be as accommodating as Louisa, understanding the necessity for a low profile for the time being.

His mind raced ahead.

When can I be with her again?

Anticipation licked in him. The hunger of desire—desire that had burned within him that night of the charity gala when he’d seen her again after doing without her for four long months. He’d told himself that terminating their affair had been a necessity he could not avoid—unwelcome though it had been when she was so exactly what suited him—but seeing her again like that he had known, when the revealing anger lashed within him, that one thing was very clear about Alexa.

No man but me.

Well, now it was going to stay that way. No man but he in her life.

That was what he wanted—and that was now what he was going to get.

He just had to make it work, that was all. And he would. Of that he was confident.

He leant back in his chair, reaching out to the keyboard on his desk, tapping it briefly to pull up his diary, scrolling rapidly down the coming weeks. He looked for that all-essential window when he could get back to London—back to Alexa.

Back to her bed.

He paused the scroll. There—that was the opportunity he wanted. Ten days away. A mere ten days to wait before he got her to himself again. His good mood enhanced, he extracted his mobile and dialled hers. There was no answer. He gave a slight shrug, sliding the phone back in his jacket pocket. He would try again later. Because of this new, irritating need for discretion he would not leave a message, only speak to her—though he knew from previous experience that when she was painting, whether or no

t her subject was a commission or personal, she would not answer.

Tant pis—there was time in hand.

But as the days slipped by he was still not able to reach her. Three days before he was due in London his mounting irritation peaked, and he sent one of his security staff to convey the information about his imminent arrival.

The information was never delivered.

Alexa Harcourt, so he was informed by his security staff, no longer lived at that address. Alexa Harcourt, so his disbelieving enquiries further revealed, had disappeared off the face of the earth.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ALEXA flexed her fingers, trying to warm them and failing. The cold was biting, eating into her, making holding a paintbrush an increasing ordeal. The lone electric heater in the room she’d allocated as a studio, actually little more than a lean-to, made scant impact against the harsh weather outside.

But this desolate spot was exactly what she’d sought—somewhere to hide from the man who wanted to keep her as a handy side-dish for his tasteless marriage to a girl who was resigned to his infidelity even before her wedding day. Somewhere to hide from the man who’d treated her as a convenient source of sex-on-demand, accepting and acquiescent, whenever it had suited him.

A man who expected her to say yes to anything he wanted of her.

Her face hardened. Well, finally, finally, she’d learnt to say no.

The tight band around her heart, which had been there for so long now, tightened another notch. She’d learnt to welcome it, that crushing tightness. Knowing that it was like a stay around her heart, holding it together. Holding her together. Making her strong.